Everyone's To Blame
by katyabarnes
Summary: Blaine Anderson becomes instantly popular as McKinley's new badboy, which is no surprise as he has Quinn Fabray on his arm. However, he also has a dark side, which his new History partner Kurt Hummel could never have prepared himself for.
1. Chapter 1

**Please head all warnings before reading this story****.** Although it may seem mellow at first, it's going to become pretty intense. If you class any of the following as personal triggers, I urge you to turn away now and read something else. If you would like any information as to which warnings apply to which characters, please feel free to privately message me and I will be sure to get back to you ASAP. Thank you.

**Warnings for overall story**: Depression, dark/suicidal thoughts, panic attacks/anxiety, homophobia, other disturbing thoughts, murder of minor characters, **major character death** and, of course, gay smut.

* * *

><p>"Turning up today, bud?"<p>

Kurt opened his eyes to blinding sunlight, and immediately wished he hadn't.

"No."

Turning away from his bedroom door, he could faintly hear his bed springs groan and shift as his dad took a seat on the edge of his bed. Kurt could only imagine the look of tortured exasperation on Burt's face.

"Kurt—"

"No." Taking a moment to pull the covers closer to his face and shut out any remnants of light, he continued, "Close the blinds and shut the door behind you on your way out."

A sigh. Kurt squeezed his eyes shut and pretended not to hear it, despite the guilt the sound sparked in his chest. This wasn't Kurt's fault, it _wasn't_—

"Kurt, you can't keep doing this. I'm not sure what went on in that school of yours, but running away isn't going to help matters."

"I'm not running away."

His dad snorted, although the sound lacked any trace of amusement. "Your attendance figures suggest otherwise."

"Fuck attendance," Kurt spat. "Fuck that school, and most importantly, fuck everyone in it."

"Language."

"Fuck _you_."

Silence.

* * *

><p>Kurt had good days, now and again.<p>

"Wow."

Sneer firmly in place, Kurt turned away from the open fridge. "What?"

"I'm just not sure I remember the last time I saw you leave your bedroom," Burt replied, buttering his toast at the kitchen table with a small smile. Kurt figured this wasn't going to be one of those days.

Kurt ignored him, slamming the fridge door loudly and taking a seat at the table. "I'm thinking of going back," he stated, feigning nonchalance.

"Where to?"

"McKinley." The word left a bitter taste in his mouth, much like the memories that accompanied it. Not allowing himself to think of those particular memories in any further detail, he cautiously continued, "I could go to classes on Monday, I guess."

"You _guess_?"

Kurt shrugged. "Sure."

His dad sighed, burying his face in his hands and muttering uselessly into them. When Kurt merely arched one eyebrow in response, he looked back up and sighed. Again. "Don't do this for my sake, Kurt. Please don't. You need to take your studies seriously, and—"

"Yes, I know. Without the grades, I won't be able to go to New York. I know, Dad. I _know_."

Burt, although sceptical if the nervousness of his shaking hands relayed anything, allowed his smile to reach his worried eyes. In response, the tension tightening Kurt's insides relaxed. Maybe things were beginning to look up for him.

If only a little.

"Okay."

* * *

><p>McKinley looked no different, yet at the same time, Kurt felt as though he was on a different planet.<p>

Perhaps it was merely the change in his attitude; small shoulders, timid glances, and hurried breath. Perhaps it was the fact that he had no friends. Perhaps it was that his dad had almost cried when waving him off for school that morning. Or perhaps it was—

The boy standing in front of his locker.

Kurt pulled the sleeves of his jumper further down his wrists subconsciously as he cowered at the end of the hall in surprise, watching as the boy in question leaned his back against Kurt's locker as though it were his own. From such a short distance, Kurt could see him clearly; dark, gelled hair, tanned skin, hazel eyes and an infuriatingly cocky grin. A new addition to McKinley's Neanderthals, Kurt assumed. An incredibly attractive one at that, although Kurt pushed that thought to the back of his mind, taunts of the word _'fag'_ flashing behind his eyelids as he slowly blinked in upset at the situation at hand. He leaned his head to one side, frowning at the boy's ripped jeans and dirty boots. Another mindless bully, he concluded.

Just what Kurt needed.

Nervously shifting towards his locker and looking past the boy in question, Kurt noticed who he was directing his grin towards and seemingly in the middle of a conversation with. Quinn Fabray; McKinley High's infamous head cheerleader and, more importantly, one of the many of McKinley's students Kurt wanted – no, _needed_ – to avoid. Seeing her piercing emerald eyes and shallow smile so clearly after weeks of isolation only made Kurt's head spin, and attempt to spiral back into the place it could not afford to. Running shaking fingers along his wrists, he forced a sudden burst of anxiety away and attempted to control the pace of his breathing. Closing his eyes momentarily, Kurt couldn't help but think of that dreaded day in the parking lot. Although it had occurred almost a month ago, Kurt had not forgotten a single detail. It was as though it was imbedded in his skin; impossible to run away from.

As though it was murdering not only his resolve, but _himself. _

* * *

><p>"<em>Hey, Hummel!"<em>

_Kurt quickened his pace, heart racing. His car was so, so close; if he could just—_

_Alarmed by the hand which suddenly grasped his arm and pulled him back to the group by the strap of his bag, Kurt opened his mouth to scream, but a hand stopped him just in time._

"_I'm not lettin' you run your faggy little mouth this time, Hummel. No chance in hell." The voice was rough, cruel. Karofsky. Kurt closed his eyes, trying not to cry or show any signs of the weakness which had clawed away at him ever since the boy in question had threatened his life a month ago. The group laughed, spurred on by the words of their leader, and moved to surround Kurt. _

"_Teach him a lesson, Dave," one of the cheerleaders called, the remainder of the group cheering in response to her suggestion._

"_Yeah," Quinn Fabray agreed, her eyes shimmering with malice as she moved beside Karofsky and shook her head at the cowering teenager. "Show him how a real man defends himself."_

* * *

><p>Kurt shook his head firmly, refusing to let that particular torture continue. Blinking back tears, he attempted to regain control over both his emotions and sanity. Although his car seemed so close and the idea of home was so inviting and <em>safe<em>, Kurt had promised himself he wouldn't continue to run from his this, and so continued on. Burrowing his forehead as far into his chest as he could, he headed in the direction of his first class of the day. Thankfully, he did so without being noticed. As though he were invisible, which Kurt guessed was a pretty accurate description of his place in McKinley's hierarchy.

Upon taking his seat in the otherwise empty classroom, Kurt attempted to leave all thoughts of Quinn and the mysterious boy behind him. Along with his History textbooks, apparently, which remained in his locker and would surely get him into trouble. Kurt resisted the urge to bang his head against his desk. Hard. _Typical_, he thought.

As the bell rang and the class began to fill, Kurt let his thoughts wander. Despite his many attempts at leaving the events of past months behind him, Kurt found it hard not to fall back into the pit that he had begun to delve into as he had taken time away from school after the incident. The depression had been overwhelming, and Kurt swallowed nervously as he forced his eyes away from his covered wrists. He was vaguely aware of his teacher welcoming the class and beginning the lesson, but could not focus. Perhaps returning to McKinley so soon had been a bad idea, after all. Would anyone care if he walked out of school right now and never returned? Would anyone _notice_? Probably not. Mentally preparing himself, Kurt began to gather his things. Pen, phone, keys…

"Mr. Hummel?"

Hands beginning to sweat with nervousness at the thought of being caught in the act of leaving, Kurt glanced up and into the stern eyes of his History teacher. He tried to ignore the stares of his peers, refusing the shiver which willed to cross his spine. "Sir?"

"Would you care to explain the absence of your textbook?"

Kurt tried not to audibly sigh with relief, shakily placing his notepad back on his desk and returning the stare of his teacher. "It's at home," he lied.

"Ah." Mr. Miller shook his head in blatant dismay. "In that case, I guess our new student will have to set an example and show you the error in your ways. After such an extended absence, I would have thought you would be more prepared, Mr. Hummel."

New—new _student_? Kurt blinked slowly in confusion and felt his brow furrow, before he noticed the boy stood beside his teacher. Lost in his thoughts, he seemed to have missed the introduction of a new classmate.

"Mr. Anderson, would you care to take a seat beside Mr. Hummel here so that he may share your textbook?"

Looking into the eyes of 'Mr. Anderson', Kurt stiffened. The cause of his textbook problem, that _stupidly _dressed boy, merely smirked in response, lip curling mischievously as he took his seat beside a shaking Kurt.

"My pleasure."

And Kurt had thought his day could get no worse.

* * *

><p>As this chapter was only an introduction to the story and roles of some of the main characters, it's very short. Sorry. Further updates will be considerably longer. Please review and tell me your thoughts! I also apologise for the hurriedness of this chapter. It's late and I'm tired, so please excuse any errors. WOW. Big expectations for the next chapter, I know.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

I don't have any of this story written out so far, but I do have the outline fresh in my mind and know how the overall fic is going to end. As a result of this, I am going to aim to post at least once a week. Update days will most likely occur on Sundays from now on, with exceptions made for any upcoming holidays. Thank you.

* * *

><p>"I'm Blaine Anderson."<p>

Kurt turned the page of their shared textbook, ignoring the offered hand. Without looking up, he offered a bitter, "And I don't care."

They were supposed to be studying the causes of World War I, but Blaine appeared adamant to disregard that fact. He simply leaned back in his seat, shoving his hand back into the pocket of his hoodie with a smirk. "Someone's feisty."

Kurt huffed, trying to ignore the shaking of his hands as he replied with a slight sneer. "And _someone_ is supposed to be studying." Lowering his voice to a whisper upon earning a stern look from their teacher, he continued, "Look, _Blaine_, I don't need this right now. Leave me alone and read the fucking textbook."

Blaine placed both elbows on the table they sat at, causing it to tilt towards him and jolt away from Kurt. The sharp noise caught Kurt's attention, and he looked up in fear of what he would see. Disgust? Had he already figured out Kurt's afflictions based on the pitch of his voice? The product in his hair? The—

Blaine was sat, chin in one hand, still ignoring the textbook and looking straight at Kurt. His arrogant smirk firmly in place, Blaine seemed pleased to have gained his attention. He leaned forward, as though about to tell a secret, before whispering, "Where's your textbook?"

Flipping forward a few pages, Kurt acted as though he hadn't spoken and continued taking notes. He did so throughout the rest of the lesson, despite Blaine's many attempts to gain his attention. Jabbing him in the side, throwing balls of paper at his person – which, Kurt quietly muttered, should have contained his notes – and repeatedly saying his name. Kurt, Kurt, _Kurt_.

He was relentless.

Kurt hadn't always been so unpleasant and guarded. In fact, he had had many friends until his first day at McKinley, in which he had immediately been labelled as 'different' and 'strange' as a result of his love for fashion and lack of interest in football. His number of friends had decreased dramatically after that, until eventually, he was left with no one but his Dad. Kurt did feel guilty for his treatment of Burt in recent weeks, but hadn't meant to be as ungrateful as he appeared. He hadn't told him about his run in with Karofsky and the others in fear of making the problem worse and causing his Dad further issues with his heart, and as a result of that, had remained hidden in his bedroom for weeks without a word of explanation, other than the whispered "I can't do this anymore" Kurt had given on that first dreaded night back. Burt had let him go without a word.

After years of the same shit, Kurt was done; done with McKinley, done with homophobic assholes, and done with Blaine Anderson.

"Please," Kurt whispered, voice small and unfamiliar. Blaine hesitated, slowly leaning forward to meet his eyes and pausing the hand he had been using to prepare his next weapon. Feeling his eyes begin to moisten, Kurt felt mortified, but continued anyway, "Please leave me alone, Blaine."

"I—"

"Okay, class. Pens down." Mr. Miller's voice cut through the stillness suddenly created around Kurt and Blaine, and the pair turned to the front without another glance in each other's direction. Their teacher continued, and Kurt didn't fail to miss the pointed look he gave them upon doing so. "Although it seems _some_ of you were not so productive today."

Kurt pretended he couldn't feel eyes briefly settling on him and defiantly kept his gaze on Mr. Miller as he gave a brief overview of what they would be moving onto in their next lesson. Blaine remained unusually silent, seemingly paying attention for the first time since Kurt had first seen him talking to Quinn in front of his locker that morning, which was probably the most surprising thing that had happened to Kurt all day.

As soon as the bell rang, Kurt shot up, threw his things into his bag and left. He didn't spare Blaine a single glance.

* * *

><p>Kurt hated the Glee club.<p>

Their impromptu 'performances' could only be described as unsettling. Kurt watched as their exuberant soloist clambered onto one of the long tables in the cafeteria and continued to wail into her makeshift microphone; a large feat for someone so unnaturally small. If the fact that the songs they butchered were at least 30 years old wasn't bad enough, the food being thrown their way certainly made up for it.

Half-eaten slices of pizza, tomatoes, pasta, cake…. It was complete chaos.

Kurt didn't bother following the other students as they ran screaming to their closest exits, because he knew no food would be thrown his way. That was one of the many benefits of having no friends, Kurt supposed. No one cared enough to give him attention, whether that be positive or negative. He simply continued going over his notes for his next class, alone on a small table in the corner of the cafeteria. Allowing his eyes to quickly skim over his wrists, he ensured his jumper still stretched enough to cover his scars. Of course it did, Kurt was no idiot, but he was also too paranoid to take any chances. Again, he began to panic. Urging himself to focus his attention solely on his notes, Kurt tried to pretend his wrists were not something he had to worry about by attempting to drown himself in his studies. So focused on diverting his attention away from his issues, Kurt wasn't aware of the figure suddenly standing behind him.

"Someone's brave."

"Shit!" Kurt's notes fell to the floor as he jumped in fright at the interruption. Whipping round to face none other than his latest tormentor, Kurt raised one eyebrow in blatant irritation. "For fucks sake, Blaine," he spat. "What's your problem?"

Blaine only smiled in response and ignored Kurt's exclamation completely. "Not running from the massacre?"

"No."

"Are you mad at me?"

"No."

"Okay." Blaine's smile widened as he watched Kurt attempt to tidy the mess that now covered his notes. A long strand of spaghetti ran down its spine, and Blaine slowly reached forward to wipe it off. "Can I sit with you?"

"You _can_," Kurt replied, tucking his ruined notebook into his bag in resignation.

"May I?"

"No."

Ignoring him, Blaine sat down anyway. "Are you always this uptight?"

Kurt dug the palms of his hands into his eyes. At least if he made himself blind he wouldn't have to look at that idiotic smile of Blaine's anymore, limitations be damned. "Are you always this clingy?" he replied.

"I'm not clingy."

"We've known each other for approximately three hours," Kurt retorted. "I'd say you following me around could definitely be defined as clingy."

Blaine's smile shrunk a little, but his eyes still shone at the accusation. The hazel looked almost gold as he replied in an unusually small voice. Kurt tried not to stare. "You're the only person I've met so far who doesn't treat me like royalty because I own an expensive car and date Quinn Fabray," he admitted, voice laced with sarcasm as he mentioned Quinn. "I'd say you seem interesting enough to follow around."

Kurt's shock must have been plain, because Blaine sighed. "Yes, I own the—"

"Quinn is your girlfriend?" Kurt exclaimed, voice rising in pitch. It sounded embarrassingly shrill, but Kurt was too shocked to care. "Quinn Fabray?"

"Um, yeah," Blaine admitted, looking puzzled by Kurt's reaction. He almost seemed concerned Kurt would have a heart attack at the admission if the alarm on his face was anything to go by, which Kurt figured was an accurate description of how he was feeling at that moment. "She's a family friend. We've known each other for years."

"Typical. Fucking _typic_—"

"Babe."

Kurt's eyes fell shut. He was tempted to plug his ears with his fingers and sing loudly to block out the new voice, but knew it would be no use. He was all too aware of the fact that she was _here_ now.

He could hear Blaine shuffle slightly beside him before replying, voice regaining its usual smugness once again, which Kurt was sure would be reflecting in his smile. It was as though he hadn't opened up at all during their conversation; as though Kurt wasn't even _there_. "Hey, baby."

Heels clicked on the hard flooring of the cafeteria. Closer, closer. Kurt opened his eyes. He refused to be the victim, and sat up a little straighter. They were in school, after all. Kurt had nothing to worry about.

He hoped.

"What's going on here?" Quinn moved into Kurt's line of vision, but didn't spare him a glance. Eyes firmly on Blaine's, she continued in an accusative tone, "Why are you talking to him?"

"We're partners in History," Blaine replied evenly. "I was just asking him for help with the homework."

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you care about homework?"

"Since I don't want to be kicked out of _every_ school I attend," Blaine replied. His smile became lopsided, and he pulled Quinn closer by the hand. Kurt was unsure of what to do. Were they going to start making out in front of him? Kurt could do without that. "After all," he continued, "I can't be kicked out of McKinley, because it's where you are, babe. And I like spending time with you too much to move away from you again."

Quinn visibly melted before Kurt's eyes. It was sickening. She leaned down to whisper something in Blaine's ear before returning to her original height, throwing a dark look Kurt's way for the first time. He refused to react.

"Stay away from him," she hissed malevolently. Her voiced was laced with a clear threat of what would happen if he ignored her, and Kurt knew all too well not to challenge that. Her eyes travelled over his body for a moment as though she could see right through his clothes. As though she was slowly undressing him and assessing each and every one of his bruises, making him sit a little straighter in his seat, before clarifying, "You got that?"

Kurt nodded timidly, lowering his head. He felt violated and smaller than he ever had under her stare, which was strange considering her small stature. But Kurt knew what she was capable of, and refused to test that ever again. Looking at his sleeves for the millionth time that day, Kurt pushed his anxiety aside and looked up to watch her walk away. He felt drained, and simply wanted to go home. With only one lesson left, he was sure he wouldn't be missed. Adjusting his bag so that the strap fit nicely over his shoulder, it was the first time Kurt noticed the cafeteria was now empty, other than the scraps of food that littered its floor. How long had they been sat there? Kurt wondered.

A long time, apparently.

"Wait." A hand caught his wrist as he attempted to stand up. Kurt startled, almost having forgotten Blaine's presence altogether in his state of shock and upset. He turned to face him, mildly surprised by the lack of smile he found there. It was unsettling. Blaine continued almost shyly, not looking Kurt in the eye. It was the polar opposite of his attitude in Quinn's presence. "Stay here."

"I can't," Kurt whispered, confused by Blaine's sudden switch in attitude. He hadn't even attempted to defend Kurt in Quinn's presence at all, had simply sat to one side and watched as Kurt had been clearly threatened. What was _wrong_ with him? "You heard Quinn," he said instead, trying to release himself from the tight grip of Blaine's hand.

"She doesn't have to know."

"Why do you care?" Kurt asked suddenly, surprised by the look of desperation on Blaine's face as he earnestly looked up and into Kurt's eyes. For the first time, Kurt realised how beautiful Blaine actually was. His eyes were positively glittering as he stared right into Kurt's own, and he swallowed heavily in response to the reaction it caused in his body. Ignoring the quickening thud of his heart, Kurt continued quietly, "I'm not popular, Blaine. I have no friends. I'll only stilt your social status at McKinley, not boost it. Why won't you leave me alone? You have _Quinn_."

Blaine's grasp slipped from Kurt's wrist to his hand, eliciting a small shiver from its owner. Tracing his index finger over Kurt's palm, he spoke up. "I want to get to know you better, Kurt."

"Why?"

"You're so refreshing," Blaine replied quietly. His eyes fell closed and his hand didn't falter its grip on Kurt's. Kurt was beginning to worry. Was Blaine okay? Had he returned to school only to find himself cornered by a psychopath? Had Quinn set him up to this? Was— "Quinn doesn't understand me like you do, Kurt. No one does."

"I don't know anything about you other than your name and the fact that you're an arrogant asshole, Blaine. What the _fuck_ are you talking about?"

Blaine only smiled at Kurt's panicked exclamation, settling his gaze on Kurt's before replying. "Nothing. I just like you, Kurt. Is that so hard for you to believe?"

"Yes. Considering the fact that the student body wants me dead, I do find it hard to believe that you would – as you so kindly put it – _like_ me."

"Have you ever been to the Lima Bean?"

"What?"

"The Lima Bean. It's a coffee—"

"I know what the Lima Bean is, Blaine."

"Oh." Blaine paused, seemingly weight up his options. His grip relaxed on Kurt's hand. "What are you waiting for then? Let's go."

"Go where?"

"The Lima Bean." Blaine raised a triangular eyebrow, as though _Kurt_ were the maniac of the pair. "Have you been paying no attention?"

* * *

><p>"Blaine—"<p>

"Okay." Blaine fell to a sudden stop in the middle of the empty school corridor. His voice was hushed as lessons were in session and lunch had ended, but Kurt could hear every world clearly. His hand was still in Kurt's, and Kurt did not have the strength or sanity to pull away. Because seriously, what the _fuck_ was happening right now?

Blaine continued, frowning, "I know you think everyone hates you, Kurt. But _I_ don't, and _I_ want to take you to the Lima Bean for coffee. Is that okay?"

"I-" Kurt paused, but could think of no reason to refuse. Blaine had already assured him Quinn would not find out, and Burt _had_ urged him to make friends that morning as he had waved him off and left for work with tears in his eyes. Kurt tried to tell himself he was only accepting Blaine's offer for the sake of his Dad, but knew he was only lying to himself as he did so. "Okay."

For the hundredth time that day, Kurt watched Blaine's infuriating smile widen and thought only one thing.

_Idiot_.

* * *

><p>For the first time Kurt could remember, he opened up to someone who wasn't his father.<p>

In a remote corner of the familiar coffee shop, Blaine and Kurt sat conversing for seemingly hours over their drinks. Kurt told Blaine about the death of his mother and his relationship with his father, and although Blaine seemed to brush aside the topic of his own parents up when Kurt inquired, he did tell Kurt the tales of his experiences in previous schools. Kurt pushed aside his worries of Quinn, school and Blaine's earlier attitude, concentrating on nothing but their conversation, and for the first time in years, he felt genuinely happy.

"No way!" Kurt laughed, the sound likely startling himself more than Blaine. Kurt couldn't remember the last time he had laughed like this; or rather, at all. "You were _not_ in show choir."

"I was." Blaine's smile widened. Kurt tried not to stare, his eyelashes falling to his cheeks as he stared down at the rim of his coffee cup. "In an all boy's private school," he added coyly.

"Hence the offensive amount of product in your hair," Kurt remarked with a small grin, looking back to Blaine and waving his hand in reference to his perfectly tamed hair. Blaine huffed in response, although he did so in mock offence before allowing the smile to slip back onto his face.

Blaine's smile looked as though it was trying to stretch straight off his face, and Kurt tried not to ponder his confusion too much in reference to the fact that Blaine seemed so unbelievably _happy_ around him. Blaine somehow mustn't know about his sexuality; that was the only explanation for it, and Kurt didn't plan on telling him. Their laughter trailed off and eventually they were left with quiet, Kurt smiling across the table at his new companion as they continued to sip their lukewarm coffee.

"I must admit," Kurt said, breaking the silence, "I didn't think I would enjoy myself quite this much when I agreed to come here with you."

"I'm not _that_ bad."

"Not here," Kurt admitted. "If not for Mr. Miller—"

Something suddenly occurred to him.

"Blaine." He paused, licking his lips anxiously as he thought back to their disastrous meeting that morning and noticed something he should have before. "How exactly do you know my name?"

"What?"

"Mr. Miller only referred to me as Mr. Hummel in History this morning, right?" he replied, his pulse beginning to quicken as Blaine almost knocked his cup over in sudden nervousness. Something was definitely wrong.

Panic flashed along Blaine's features, if only briefly. "Kurt—"

"_Blaine_!"

"Quinn told me your name," Blaine replied quietly. He glanced around the shop and ensured no one was looking at them before taking one of Kurt's hands in his own. Kurt was too shocked to react; in disgust at his admission or shock at the warmth and intimacy of Blaine's hand in his, he was unsure. His eyes began to burn with oncoming tears. "She told me everything, Kurt. But-"

"Everything?"

"Everything."

Retracting his hand from Blaine's in disgust, Kurt jumped to his feet and fled the shop as quickly as possible without another glance behind him. He had been played. Quinn must have set him up to it. She must have—

Hastily unlocking his car with shaking hands, Kurt threw himself into the driver's seat and, for the first time that day, allowed himself to cry. Sobs wracked his chest, and it quickly became increasingly difficult for him to breathe, but Kurt knew he couldn't stay in the parking lot and wait for his tears to stop before driving home. Looking down to his wrists, Kurt's breathing quickened in anticipation and fear. He knew how to make it all stop. He _knew_. Starting up his car, he didn't spare the Lima Bean a look as he shakily drove away.

Blaine never bothered coming after him.

* * *

><p>There's something I'm not sure about in the case of this fic. I think it may be my writing style as it seems so rushed when I go over it, but I'm going to try my best to find the style that makes me happy as I keep writing this story. Thank you for reading, and please review so that I know how you feel about this fic so far. See you next Sunday.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Agh. I've had literally _no_ time to write this week, but didn't want to miss out on my first ever set update day. Talk about unreliable. This is literally the shortest chapter in history, but I didn't want to get into the next part of the story yet because I feel as though it deserves its own chapter. Hey, at least there's _something_ written here. I'm just trying to get into the swing of things. GIVE ME TIME, GUYS.

* * *

><p>For someone Kurt had known less than a day, Blaine had easily gotten under his skin.<p>

Literally.

Watching the remnants of blood flow down the drain of his bathroom sink with morbid curiosity, like wine wasted on a lonely afternoon, Kurt finally felt as though he had no tears left to shed. His gaze shifted to the stained razor still resting in his trembling palm, and he silently waited for that familiar sense of relief to greet him with open arms.

It didn't.

Burt could arrive home at any second, and Kurt knew he had to clean up and remove all evidence of what he had just done, but he was too stunned to care in that particular moment. A few years earlier the thought of self-harm would simply have horrified Kurt because, well, how could self-mutilation ever make you feel _better_? But that first night home after his encounter with Karofsky had simply brought something out of him – a sudden urge to concentrate on something else and transfer his pain to any other part of himself – which was insanely hard to stop. Faded wounds littered the entirety of his forearm, as well as more recent ones, but they all seemed to pale in comparison to his most recent scar. Although it appeared no different to its companions on the surface, it was in the fact that it had left Kurt feeling nothing but physical pain after its opening; something he had never experienced before while doing this to himself. Kurt didn't understa—

The front door slammed shut with a loud bang. _Shit_.

"Kurt, you here?" the voice called from upstairs. "I swear the funniest thing happened today at the store—"

His Dad continued to talk, but Kurt ceased to hear what was being said. His heart was beating alarmingly fast, and panic began to rise in his chest as he scrambled to remove all evidence of what had just transpired. He could only give a few dabs at his wrist with a cloth before footsteps began to fall on the basement stairs, and he barely had enough time to pull his sleeves down before Burt was knocking on the bathroom door.

"You in there, bud?" A pause. "Everything okay?"

"Fine!" Kurt hoped his voice hadn't shifted too high in pitch and didn't betray his anxiety. Looking at himself in the mirror, he almost didn't recognise the mess that stared back at him. "Just a second," he added.

Splashing water on his face and giving one last resigned attempt to fix his deflated hair, Kurt gave up and opened the bathroom door. Burt's concern only seemed to double as he took in Kurt's dishevelled appearance.

"I take it school didn't go well," was all he said.

"It wasn't my best day."

"I can see that." Reaching forward to awkwardly pat Kurt on the shoulder, Burt attempted to convey his sympathy in the simplistic gesture. Although it didn't work in the slightest, Kurt appreciated the intent behind it. "I'm sorry."

Kurt shrugged. "It isn't your fault."

"Look—"

"I'm fine." Forcing a smile, he moved past his dad and into his bedroom, flopping down onto his bed and attempting nonchalance. "Tell me about what happened at the store."

Burt had the decency to play along as he joined Kurt and sat at the edge of his bed, but the worry never fully fled from his eyes.

Kurt couldn't blame him.

"Sure."

* * *

><p>Kurt didn't see Blaine again until his next History class on Thursday.<p>

He had spent Tuesday with his head down and had eaten lunch alone in the safety of his French classroom, ignoring the worried looks his teacher had given him as he had done so. He had spent Tuesday night staring up at the ceiling and determinedly not thinking about Blaine while attempting to alleviate his dad's worries, which had only resulted in a long night of no sleep and thoughts consumed with none other than Blaine Anderson as he mentally beat himself up for allowing his mind to do so.

The same Blaine was currently watching him as he attempted to take notes from the board, chewing on the end of his pencil and ignoring the teacher as usual.

"Are you mad at me?"

"I don't know, Blaine," he replied, voice cool and seemingly uncaring, but hushed. "At first you bugged the crap out of me and I couldn't stand you, but then – just as I began to think maybe you were different to the rest of them – you showed me that you're worse than all of the bastards put together. I honestly just can't believe I fell for your _shit_."

"It wasn't shit, Kurt. None of it. Please just hear me out—"

"Oh— yes, please, tell me what it is you have to say. Didn't you get what you wanted? To humiliate me even more than your friends and girlfriend already have? Well done, Blaine. I can assure you you've done so successfully. You can report back to Quinn now and bask in the glory of the blowjob or whatever the fuck it is you're getting out of this twisted deal. I've been appropriately screwed over."

"Look," Blaine quickly cut in, placing a hand over Kurt's and seemingly attempting to keep his cool. Kurt ignored the spark that ignited under the skin Blaine's palm grazed, closing his eyes and ignoring the throbbing of his wrist that tried to grab his attention. He resisted the urge to glance down at his wrists again. Blaine edged a little forward before continuing, tone more serious and secretive than Kurt had ever heard it. "There's more to the story than what you know, Kurt. I promise I'm not out to harm you in any way, and I also promise Quinn knows nothing about this."

Kurt wasn't sure what 'this' was, but listened as hazel stared intently into blue and Kurt's pulse began to race at the continued rush of pleasure he gained from where they touched. He knew it was wrong, but it just felt so inexplicably _good_. Taking a steadying breath, he kept the mantra up in his head that Blaine _knew_. He was bad news, bad news, bad news…

"Meet me at the Lima Bean again after school," Blaine continued, his voice a rough whisper which sent shivers down Kurt's spine. Leaning forward slightly, almost against his own will, Kurt strained to hear his hushed words as Blaine continued. "Let me explain myself, Kurt. Please."

Bad news, bad news, bad news…

"Okay."

Bad news, bad news, bad news…

* * *

><p>That didn't take long at all, did it? Sorry. I promise the next chapter will be AT LEAST 4,000 words long. Please review though, guys. I seriously need to know whether or not there is any point in me actually continuing on with this. Not to grovel, but yeah. Review.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Well shit. I'm only 4 chapters in and I'm already submitting chapters a week later than I was supposed to and making them 1,000 words shorter than promised. Please find it in your heart to forgive me, guys. I've been busy.

* * *

><p>"Well?" Kurt barked, refusing to let the silence that had fallen over them get to him. After having his coffee practically thrown at him by a seemingly uncaring Blaine upon entering the shop, he had had enough. "What do you want from me?"<p>

Blaine watched him with keen eyes as he sipped his own coffee. Kurt marvelled at how he downed a good half of the beverage without even a flinch at its temperature, before setting the cup on the table between them and looking up into Kurt's eyes, effectively ending that pointless train of thought. Denying the shiver that willed its way along his spine, Kurt couldn't help but think back to the fact that this was a _bad idea_.

"I thought I told you earlier," Blaine replied softly, taking a moment to moisten his lips before continuing. Kurt refused to watch the movement of his tongue as he did so. "I want to explain myself to you."

Kurt didn't understand how anyone could _explain_ initiating a questionable at best 'friendship' with their nerd of a History partner, while all the time knowing how said nerd had been tortured by his girlfriend and friends earlier that same year, but was apparently going to give Blaine the benefit the doubt if the way that he urged him on with a flick of his hand implied anything. _Idiot_.

Blaine was unnaturally quiet for a long moment. He continued to watch Kurt, but didn't appear to have anything prepared to say for himself. Seconds ticked by, and feeling played for the hundredth time that week, Kurt made to leave. Huffing a breath in frustration, he moved to stand up, but faltered as Blaine reached forward and grabbed his arm in apparent alarm.

"Let go of me, Blaine," Kurt spat, ripping his arm free and pushing Blaine's hand back to his lap in disgust. "You make me sick. Don't _ever_—"

"I'm sick."

"You're—what?"

"Sick," Blaine repeated in a small voice, wiping his palms on his ripped jeans nervously. People were starting to look over at them, and Blaine lowered his voice even further upon noticing, trying to coax Kurt back into his seat as he did so. "I'm sick, Kurt."

"I don't understand," was all Kurt said, stunned. Almost falling back into his seat, he could only stare blankly at the boy opposite him. Meanwhile, Blaine seemed almost as shocked as him at his own admission. When Blaine finally caught his eye after a long pause, he repeated quietly, "I don't understand."

Blaine reached across the table with an urgency Kurt wasn't expecting, grabbing one of his hands and holding it loosely in his as he replied. Kurt simply continued to stare at him, too stunned to move away. "I can't tell you everything just now, Kurt, but I need you to know that I'm not like you. I don't have your confidence. Your drive. Your elegance."

"Confidence?" Kurt spluttered, confused beyond belief. "You think _I_ have confidence?"

Blaine cocked his head to one side, as though aware of something Kurt was not. The sheer gravity and number of secrets and mysteries Blaine kept alluding to was giving Kurt a headache, and the way in which he continuously spoke about him as though he _knew_ him was unnerving. Kurt felt completely oblivious to a world that had seemed so black and white to him before; it had went from black and white – from Kurt and Karofsky, from good and bad– to black, white and then _Blaine_. He was nothing short of an enigma.

A smile began to grow on Blaine's face, and a few teeth slipped through his reddened lips as he spoke and snapped Kurt out of his troubled thoughts. "You don't even know, do you?"

"Know what?" Kurt's frustration was beginning to grow, despite Blaine's admission of being 'sick'. He was done with being played and cheated, and didn't have time to care for Blaine's problems when he had so many of his own. That was what Quinn was for, right? Lightening the burden? "What don't I know?"

Blaine shook his head in response, still smiling. "Nothing."

Removing his hand from Blaine's in one swift, fierce motion, Kurt snapped, "Stop acting like I'm an immature, uninformed little boy and tell me what's wrong with you."

"I—"

"Okay, boys," a new voice hollered, bringing Kurt's attention to the waitress suddenly standing over them. She was a little older than them, with horrendous hair and little to no fashion sense, and her smile was tight as she continued. "Keep it down or leave. You're causing a scene."

Kurt noticed for the first time how their voices had risen in volume and had therefore gained the attention of the entire shop. Quickly ensuring he didn't recognise anyone, he turned to Blaine with narrowed eyes before looking back to the waitress. "We're leaving," he retorted, standing up and adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder before strutting straight to the door, without a glance behind him to see whether or not Blaine was in his wake.

Unfortunately for Kurt, he was.

"Don't you see, Kurt? If you'd only let me explain my sickness, I'd-" he started, picking up his pace to keep up with Kurt's almost run before being cut off.

"Oh, I see," Kurt snapped, turning with a flourish to face his tormentor as he reached his car. Blaine came to a sudden stop behind him, apparently ignoring the existence of his own car at the other end of the lot as he continued to push his limits with Kurt. He appeared almost nervous, yet still his naturally arrogant self, which Kurt thought was a peculiar combination. "You're using an illness – an _illness_, Blaine – as an excuse for your behaviour? Really?" Sickened, he continued in a low voice, "And I thought you could sink no lower."

Without a word of goodbye, Kurt got into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut behind him, not caring if Blaine's hand was crushed in the process as he feebly tried to protest Kurt's escape. Even looking at him made Kurt feel sick to his stomach. Ignoring Blaine's pleas for him to listen as he banged on the car window with his fists, Kurt drove away determinedly, breaking almost every possible speed limit in an attempt to get as far away from Blaine and his 'illness' as possible.

* * *

><p>"<em>I'm sick, Kurt."<em>

The words continued to haunt Kurt's mind that night, and he could barely spare five minutes to concentrate on his homework for the next day. Throwing his French textbook to the side, he lay back on top of his bed with a frustrated sigh, digging his palms into his eyelids in irritation.

Had Kurt been too harsh? Perhaps Blaine was truly dealing with a serious illness, and Kurt had repaid his honesty and vulnerability by storming off and almost breaking his hand with a car door. Then again, how could Blaine's hypothetical illness explain his behaviour in relation to Kurt?

The more Kurt lay there and thought about it, the more he then thought about the razor sitting in his bathroom cupboard; almost begging to touch and caress his tainted skin, and erase all thoughts of Blaine.

Could he?

He knew his dad was out with some co-workers from the store for pretty much the whole night, so he wouldn't be walked in on like the last time he had hastily attempted to make himself feel better. Thinking of last time, though, Kurt also recalled how he had felt afterwards. The rush of release hadn't been there, as it always had been in the past. Was it losing its edge? Had he overdone it? Were his thoughts of Blaine more overpowering than the pain and release cutting brought him?

Ridiculous. He had only known Blaine for a matter of days, after all. He couldn't have affected him to this extent. It was impossible.

Wasn't it?

Sick of the questions overwhelming him, and finding the urge to cut more of a nagging at the back of his mind than the need it usually presented itself as, Kurt decided to push through it and forget about Blaine.

Reaching for the textbook he had just shoved aside, he got back to work. That night, he dreamt of the darkness he always had, but this time, a startling light shone through.

Funnily enough, the light reminded Kurt of the shine in Blaine's eyes.

* * *

><p>The next few weeks passed by uneventfully.<p>

Kurt ignored Blaine in History, and his grades started to rise to their usual high standard in response. After a few lessons spent in hostile silence, Blaine gave up trying to talk to him and eventually stopped turning up to the class. Kurt still saw him on Quinn's arm in the hallways more often than he cared to, but found new ways to distract himself. He began to think of Blaine as a thing of the past, and then eventually stopped thinking of him altogether.

That's how Kurt found the time to volunteer at the local hospital as a solid distraction; surprisingly enough, they seemed quite keen to hire a teenager with no past experience other than that in his dad's tire shop. The woman he had spoken to with the appalling love for denim had merely smiled, saying "The more the merrier" as she continued to pester him with questions about his dad's shop. Kurt had no idea why she was so interested, but brushed it off with a forced smile. She seemed nice enough.

Burt, of course, was overjoyed at the thought of him working at the hospital. After putting up with his sullen moods for so long, Kurt figured it was a nice change for him to see his son actually stepping out of the house outside of school hours for once. Kurt had to admit, it was pretty nice for him too.

It was currently a Sunday, and as a result of it being so late on in the year, the evenings were drawing in sooner and, despite it being 5 in the afternoon, it was almost pitch black outside. His dad was out again, and Kurt didn't fancy driving to his shift at the hospital, so decided to walk as it wasn't too far away and he was ready early with nothing to do. It would give him a half hour to collect his thoughts, at least. His dad could pick him up on his way home.

Setting off and shoving his phone, keys and lanyard in his coat pocket, he let his mind wander. He thought of pointless things, such as the History project he had coming up and his oral exam for French, as well as the birthday party he had to attend the following week for his aunt, before reaching a sudden, startling realisation.

He hadn't touched the razor in his bathroom since that time so many weeks ago when his dad had interrupted him. In fact, his wrists had actually healed sufficiently, to the point that he supposed he could wear something short-sleeved without having to worry about anyone seeing anything he didn't want them to. It was the first time since the attack that he had gone more than a week without cutting, and Kurt couldn't help but wonder why it didn't sound so appealing to him anymore. Was it—

Something across the street caught his attention, affectively cutting off his train of thought.

A dark figure stood under the street light on the other end of the path, angled towards him. Although Kurt couldn't make out any specific features because of the hood that covered most of the stranger's face, he could clearly see that he was young. Kurt's age, perhaps.

Quickly averting his gaze, Kurt hurried his pace as his heart began to race in surprised fear. Why had the figure been staring at him? Was he being followed? Resting his palm over the phone in his pocket, ready to call the police if need be, his heart stuttered as his mind immediately went to the thought of someone murdering him in the darkness, his body left for no one to be found. Glancing backwards for the smallest of moments, Kurt noticed with surprise that the figure wasn't there anymore. Coming to a sudden stop, he turned towards the light the stranger had stood under mere seconds ago, utterly confused. There were no alleys around them, so where could they have gone?

Shrugging his sudden anxiety off and telling himself he must have imagined it, he kept walking, his heart repeatedly slamming against his chest at the thought of someone attempting to harm him. He continued on towards the hospital, attempting to still the shakiness of his entire body.

He _must_ have imagined it.

* * *

><p>"So your dad's happy with you working here, then?" the woman – Carole, she had finally introduced herself as – asked him. Her smile reminded Kurt of his mother's; or, at least, what he could remember of it. Warm, friendly and eternally patient. The complete opposite of Kurt himself.<p>

"Yeah," Kurt replied, helping her straighten the bed sheets of one of the soon-to-be occupied rooms. "He's thrilled. I don't really get out much when I'm not going to school, so I think he likes the idea of me socialising."

"That makes sense." Briefly stilling their conversation to speak to one of the other nurses over the radio and enquire about the patient being directed to the room they were organising, Kurt continued to tidy the room in silence. When she had finished, she continued, "You seem to have a very close relationship with him."

"I do." Kurt smiled, thinking of his dad and all he had done for him over the years. He paused, something suddenly occurring to him before he spoke again. He watched her carefully as he said: "You remind me of him, actually. I'm sure the two of you would have a lot in common."

"Oh." She paused, a blush rising to her cheeks. "You think so?"

She had mentioned, midway through his first shift, having met his dad at a parent's evening at McKinley two years ago. She was the mother of Finn Hudson, who Kurt respected to some extent as he had saved him from a dumpster dive or two in the past. Not that Kurt had admitted that to Carole. After receiving approximately five billion questions concerning his dad after that first shift, Kurt felt it safe to assume that she had a bit of a crush on him. Her currently flaming cheeks only confirmed his suspicions.

"Sure," he replied, trying not to laugh outright at how flustered she seemed. It wouldn't do well to completely embarrass her. "You should—"

The door opened, welcoming a few of the other nurses as they escorted the hospital's newest patient inside. Carole tilted her head towards the door, indicating that they should both leave and start their next task.

The blush didn't leave her cheeks for a while, and Kurt filed away that information for later.

* * *

><p>In bed that night, Kurt couldn't help but think back to what he had seen when walking to the hospital. He had decided against telling his dad about it because he didn't want to worry him, but found images of the dark figure flooding his mind every time he tried to go to sleep.<p>

Despite the fact that it was nearing midnight, he took his History textbook from his school bag and decided to carry out some light studying to try and keep his mind away from the worrying thoughts of his apparent stalker. It soon struck midnight, and he still couldn't stop having paranoid thoughts about the fact that someone had been watching him from across the street earlier that day. Obsessive or not, Kurt knew something didn't sit well with him about what had happened.

Resignedly throwing his textbook back into his bag, he decided to force himself to sleep. Dwelling on things he was trying to tell himself weren't real wasn't an effective method of getting to sleep at all. He finally started to drift off to sleep, determinedly thinking of nothing but the test he was going to have to sit the next day, when he was suddenly interrupted.

His phone started to ring.

Cursing whichever automated service or relative had dared to call him at this hour, he quickly rifled through his bag for his cell phone before the noise it was making could awaken his dad. Accepting the incoming call without checking the caller ID and shoving it to his ear, he hissed, "Yes?"

"Hello, Kurt."

The voice was deep, unfamiliar. Almost put on. Quickly checking the caller ID, he realised it was a blocked number. The sound of their harsh breathing almost deafened Kurt, who was certainly not in the mood for pranks. "Who the fuck is this?" he asked, pushing the speaker even further into his ear so he could try and define the voice of whomever he was speaking to.

There was more breathing, and then, "I know you saw me today, Kurt. When you were walking to work." Kurt's heart began to race as he denied the urge to pinch himself. This couldn't be real. He _hadn't_ seen anything on the street that night. Sure this must be a sick joke of some sort, he asked in a shaky voice who was calling for the second time, almost afraid to hear an answer as the hand holding his phone tightly to his ear began to tremble.

The voice paused, their breath hitching as they continued by saying, almost reverently, "I've been watching you, Kurt."

* * *

><p>I feel like a lot of this chapter makes no sense. In fact, I feel like a lot of this story makes no sense. Sorry about that. I promise it'll all be a little more understandable soon. Be sure to review!<p> 


End file.
